Robin Burcell - Face of a Killer

Carillo was in the unmarked car, and Sydney saw him walk up, shake Jake’s hand, then the two of them walked toward her. Jake, however, continued on to Rainie’s, not saying anything to Sydney, which told her he was doing his level best to keep his temper in check. Sydney wasn’t having such luck, and told Scotty, “I don’t believe it.”

“I told you there were pictures, Syd.”

“Which prove what?”

Though Carillo stood a polite distance away, he was listening to the conversation, because he walked toward her and said, “The photos, Fitz. The enhancements. They came back. They prove that Wheeler was there that night, before and after the fire was set. It’s a clean case, Fitz. I looked into it just like you asked. And like you, I had my doubts, until Schermer brought me the enhanced photos from the surveillance cameras, that proved Wheeler returned to steal the money from the restaurant.”

“When did he show them to you?”

“Right before we went out on Operation Barfly… You mean you haven’t seen them?” He looked at Scotty. “Jesus. You didn’t show them to her?”

“Why would Scotty have them?” she demanded.

“I was rushing out, Fitz,” Carillo said. “He was with me when Schermer brought them in. And with what they contained, I thought someone ought to sit down with you. Not just throw them at you and leave.”

Scotty said, “I brought them to the restaurant to show you, but we were interrupted. By a purse snatcher. And then a fire.”

“ Yo u have the photos?” Sydney asked.

Scotty pulled several photographs from his jacket pocket. “ This is why I came by here tonight,” he said, handing the first to her. “I knew this was important to you.”

“The photos from the surveillance camera?”

“Yes.”

She shoved away the hurt she felt that Carillo would have given them to Scotty, but then reconciled that with the knowledge that he was busy, and he had tried to get them to her. With trepidation, she eyed the photo, recognized the back of the strip mall where her father’s restaurant used to be. Someone climbing through a window. Too grainy to use. The person climbing in was wearing dark clothing, nothing identifiable.

And then Scotty showed her a second photo. “This one was digitally enhanced,” he said. “From the original.”

It was a close-up of what was undoubtedly a very young Johnnie Wheeler, looking toward the camera. The same scar ran down his cheek, and Sydney remembered the feeling when she’d drawn Tara’s rapist, the scar she thought she saw… Was that why she’d had such a strange feeling when she’d drawn it?

She put it from her head. That meant nothing. Nothing, she told herself again, looking at the third photo, of him disappearing into the window.

“So he broke in,” Sydney said.

“About four minutes before the first nine-one-one call. The rest of the surveillance photos show him leaving out the same window right after the call was made reporting the fire. And he has the burns on his hands in this photo, and there are no burns on the entry.”

She stared in disbelief. “There has to be a mistake. The time’s wrong. Something.”

“No mistake. He lied to you, Sydney. He didn’t walk in the front door like he told you. He climbed in through the window. This proves he was there when your father was killed. Wheeler killed him. There’s no other explanation.”

Sydney looked away from the photos, away from Scotty and Carillo, their looks of sympathy, unable to believe that she had let Wheeler dupe her. She’d believed him. Believed her father had asked him there, was trying to help him. “What about Jazmine Wheeler and what she said about the church organization?”

“Perhaps,” Carillo said, “it was just a coincidence. Your father really did search him out to help out the son of an old friend. But that son was too far gone, too into drugs. Couldn’t keep himself clean long enough.”

Sydney looked down at the photos again, tried to make sense of it, but a loud crash from upstairs startled her.

Maggie Winters had dropped her aluminum clipboard, and papers went flying. “Somebody grab that,” Maggie asked one of the other agents as she shone her flashlight on the window, then peered closer at it. “Looks like someone opened the window and dropped in some matches. There’s a stick here that he probably used to reach in and knock over the turpentine.”

“Great,” Sydney said.

“You okay?” Carillo asked.

She nodded, took a deep breath, as Scotty said, “I’d say it’s looking like a lot of ugly coincidences all the way around. It happens.”

She looked up at her apartment. “If Wheeler’s guilty, then who did this?” she asked, pointing. “And why?”

Carillo followed her gaze. “Assuming it wasn’t accidental-”

“With a sliced screen?”

“Rules out the accident theory,” he continued. “So unless some arsonist just picked you at random-and I think that’s taking this coincidence theory too far-I’d say that leaves whoever it is Scotty is investigating on our good senator.”

The only thing Sydney could concentrate on right then was that she’d unwittingly brought Angie into danger. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered to herself.

Carillo put his arm around her shoulder. “First things first,” he said. “You need somewhere to stay.”

“I’m sure I’ll figure something out,” Sydney said, trying not to watch Scotty as he moved off a few feet to make a call. A chasm had definitely opened between them. She told herself it didn’t matter. He hadn’t been completely open with her-and she ignored the thought that she most definitely hadn’t been open with him. This had been her father’s life. Her life. Not Scotty’s.

Carillo saw her watching Scotty. “As hard as it is, you gotta cut him some slack. You know he’s only worried about you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she said, and Carillo drew her away, diverting her attention, his arm still around her, and she realized that she felt safe there. She could trust him.

They stood like that for several minutes, not talking, until he finally said, “Did I tell you Sheila called me today?”

“No.”

“Seems she wants to work things out.”

“Boyfriend dump her?”

“Probably. You know she’s got six letters in her first name? Say Sheila three times, it’s like saying six, six, six. Kinda fits. She-devil Sheila.”

She glanced at his face, but he was looking up at her apartment, not really seeing anything, if she had to hazard a guess. “So,” she said. “You tell her you’re getting used to the thought of paying alimony?”

“I should have. What I did say was that I’d have to think about it. Working it out, that is. Man, that fire really did a number on your kitchen.”

They stared up into the window, the burned interior brightly lit as Maggie worked her magic. “And did you?” Sydney finally asked. “Think about it?”

“Still thinking.” He flashed a grin. “I was getting used to the idea of living in my car.”

“Makes it convenient when you’re hungry. Drive right through the Taco Bells. Unless you end up getting transferred…”

“Speaking of transfers to out-of-the-way places, Dixon left you a voice mail.”

“I am not getting transferred,” she said, taking out her phone. Sydney flipped it open and punched in the code to access the voice mail. Two messages. “Syd? It’s Dixon. Just checking to see if you’re okay… if you need anything before I get out there. I’m sending a team to investigate. Just in case. Call me.”

“Nothing about a transfer,” Sydney said, deleting that call. Sydney put the phone to her ear to listen to the next message, and heard, “Things should be getting a little hot for you.” The same muffled, raspy voice as she’d heard on Dixon’s phone earlier. “Oh, by the way,” the voice continued, “ you’re next.”